


From the Start

by altsome2023



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-07-21 21:02:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7404571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altsome2023/pseuds/altsome2023
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benny/Courier fic, as the tags would suggest. I'm rather new here, and I've just been working on my writing. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I'm terrible at judging my own work, so I'm just posting this to see if it's worth continuing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Heat prickled at the nape of my neck as the sun vainly licked at the very wounds it inflicted, further intensifying their burn. I lost myself the sweet crunch of my worn boots trampling the dusty earth beneath them as I walked away from the sun, each step bringing me closer to my unfamiliar destination. Over and over again, I scanned the hand-drawn map that was given to me before I'd embarked. The creases were softening, deteriorating in the hands that tried so desperately to care for them. I'd found another small sadness in life to jot down in my mental notebook: The more we cherish what we have, the faster it's destroyed. That small map, a quintessential part of my latest expedition, was withering before me the more I used it. Each turn, each finger traced over the lines, each refolding was slowly breaking down the small sliver of guidance I had in the vast wasteland of dust and sand.

I could feel my lips beginning to chap as my desperate tongue writhed, searching for moisture amid the dry cavity that was now my mouth. I found solace in the familiarity of it all, the rush of blood to my sun-scorched cheeks; the single bead of sweat slithering down my face; the song of radscorpions scuttling across the scorching sand, their hisses joining with the chorus of the wind. Too familiar was the hot sting of the blisters that plagued my aching feet, competing for space amidst the callouses that had already settled after years of prior abuse. It was in these abuses, though, that I found my assuagement, for my entire life had been spent among them. The Mojave may have been unforgiving, but it was all I'd ever known. This searing wasteland hell would have to freeze before a damn thing could change it.

I looked up from my map again, and in the distance, I saw the silhouette of a small town. After an entire day of walking, I decided it was wisest to venture further to ensure that it was not a mirage. Though I'd only made that mistake a few times before, it was the Mojave's greatest offense. My mind was the only part of myself I could truly trust. It was my very being. To be shown its futility was perhaps the worst the desert could do to me, for though my body had felt much pain, to lose what was once believed to be a firm hold on reality was my greatest fear. If my very self was susceptible to corruption, was any part of me truly safe or real?

As I pondered this, however, my qualms were quelled. When I looked up from my feet again, I could see the old western town. I knelt down, sinking my fingers into the desiccated dirt. This was all too real. In front of me was what looked to be an old hotel with a weathered roller coaster coiling around it. Some parts had already crumbled under the harsh demands of nature. I stole one last glance at my worn map, which showed my destination was on my right, residing on the corner of the intersection ahead. I looked up, and there it stood: The Mojave Express. I stuffed my scrawled map back into my old messenger bag and shuffled forward, plumes of dust swirling about me.

I hesitated once I approached the door, being struck with the fear of treachery. My mission seemed so simple, not worth the money I was being offered, and I knew nothing of neither the employer nor the branch of the operation through which this package was delivered. As my stomach lurched and my parched throat tightened further, I knew that something was amiss. My aching gut seemed to be dragging me into the ground as I raised my scabbed knuckles to the door and hammered out five monotonous knocks. I ducked my head and exhaled deeply as the door that my hand lingered on was pulled away, revealing a desk and racks of mail compartments.

A man approached me, removing his hat and clutching it to his chest before extending his hand, anticipating I would reciprocate his gesture. I hesitated for a moment, having not felt human touch in almost a month. How could I trust him? In a pitiless world of crooks and killers, people so devoid of empathy they were barely human anymore, this one man could finally ignite the trail of gunpowder I'd left behind me my entire life. There was no outrunning it. After a brief, uncomfortable silence, I offered my dry palm in return, knowing that this seemingly pleasant man could bring about the end of both my strife and my endeavors.

"Hello, young lady," he said with a smile. I straightened up and smiled back. He stole a quick glance down at my satchel. "You're just the gal I was waitin' for. You're courier six, no?"

"Yep. Walked a hell of a way to get here, so just give me what you gotta give me so I can get back to walking a hell of a way somewhere else."

"Alright, alright. Gimme a minute," He walked behind his desk and fumbled through the stacks of papers and packages. He came back with a small box. "I'm sure you've already heard this, but let me run through this with you one more time: Alls you need to do is bring this package to the New Vegas Strip, which I see you have on that map there. My recommendation? Follow the I-15 all the way north. Trust me, ya can't miss it. Y'can see it all the way from the Goodsprings Cemetery."

"I've gotta be honest, man," I said, "I'm not really sure why I'm getting paid so much to do this shit. A stroll down to New Vegas makes for great sightseeing, not a perilous trek. Is there something you aren't telling me, or what?"

"Nah, 'fraid I've told you everything that they told me. I guess this guy thinks it's real important. Alls I can say's that some fat cat wants this done, and when a man comes ring-a-dinging at your doorbell with a hand fulla caps, you take the damn money and run."

I shrugged. "Hey, I'd rather walk across the Mojave for two caps than one. I guess I'll be off. Places to be and such."

"Good luck out there, gal." He dumped the package into my hands and I set it in my satchel, readjusting the strap that was digging into my shoulder.

My mind reeled as I made my way back out mere minutes after making it in. I stopped in the doorway, turning my head around with one hand yet grasping the frame. "Hey, know where I can get a stiff drink around here?"

"Straight ahead on your left. Just be careful, girl. That stuff ain't too good for your head. Fry ya like an egg."

"I'll keep that in mind." I gave him a quick salute and turned back around, letting the door thud softly behind me.

I sat down at a cushioned stool, sifting through the piteous handful of caps rattling at the bottom of my bag. I shelled out three, enough for a warm beer, and went to go make my purchase. I scanned the room, stealing furtive glances at the people inside, drinking, laughing. I'd never really associated my alcohol with happiness and sociability, but it amazed me that so many did. To me, my indulgence was a way to calm the crashing waves of nerves that plagued me relentlessly to a mere ripple in a pond. I knew I was too analytical. No risk ever went uncalculated, no motive unquestioned. I was exhausted, desperately trying to find a way to truly begin living untethered.

I slid my caps across the counter and a lukewarm beer was slid back into my hand. I pried off the cap with my pocket knife, fitting my lips to the glass and washing the amber alleviation over my parched throat. In a fleeting moment of absolute bliss, I rested my head on my hand and let the warmth spread all over me. It was a heat so unlike the merciless blazing heat of the desert. It was kind, forgiving, and calm. Feeling slightly less anxious than when I first arrived, I again departed, returning to the desert.

The sun was now beginning to set as I headed out along the highway. I waved at the NCR soldiers stationed outside. Few acknowledged me. The sun now hissing at my shoulder and cheek, I proceeded onward, tilting my hat more towards my left to try to block out its scornful rays. Though I felt the need to look at my map less often now, my nervous scanning of it had left some landmarks now seared into my mind. I passed the NCRCF and an old skydiving instruction shack, taking a left where the road forked, just as it'd instructed.

I was uneasy, being unfamiliar with my surroundings other than real-life formations of hastily scrawled buildings. However, as I began to crest the hill, I could see lights of what I'd assumed was Goodsprings. Drawing nearer, I squinted my eyes, now able to see that the sign read, "Prospector Saloon." I contemplated just stopping in the town for the night. My feet ached, a dull pounding drummed its hateful rhythm against the side of my skull. But I knew I had to keep moving. The sun was still shining, and I still had quite some ways to go. Vegas's imperious call was yet ringing shrilly in my ears, driving me onward.

My gaze lingered on Goodsprings longer than it should've. Even with the sun burning into my shoulder, my only thoughts were of night's peaceful embrace, the tranquility she exuded, and how I longed to be held in it. Still, I forged on. As the sky grew dimmer, each small rustling roused my alert. I could feel my paranoia sinking in again as my heart rate began to climb. I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets, picking up my pace.

My heart stopped. I heard a noise unlike the rustling of a gecko or rattling of a radscorpion. I heard what sounded like footsteps desperately trying to mirror my own shuffling behind me. I stopped dead in my tracks, as did the noises. Trying desperately not to feed my fears, I refused to turn around and continued to walk. I heard it again. I whipped my head around, the wind whistling in my ears, and in a split second, I looked up to see a rusty spade being brandished above my head.

***

_The air was cooler that day, the sky somehow bluer, but its beauty was stifled by the confines of my shack. I tirelessly swept the floor, vainly swiping at stains that'd been set hundreds of years before I'd ever touched them. "My, my, you're up early," my mother remarked, rousing from her sleeping bag._

_"I wanted to finish my chores early so I could spend my outdoor time during the best hours of the day. It's so nice out today."_

_"Oh, it is. The sky is so blue. Enjoy it, Romi. It is truly life's simple pleasures that make it worth living." She winked and ruffled my hair._

_I watched her as she walked to the piece of polished steel that served as our mirror. My mother tenderly combed through the knots that'd accumulated in her hair before she pulled it through her hands, winding it around and around before finally pinning it in a neat bun. She looked absolutely beautiful. "Mama," I asked, "Why do you braid your hair every day just to have it be undone when you work on the fields? It seems like such a waste to let that beauty be destroyed so quickly."_

_She pulled me into her, resting my head on her chest and smoothing my hair. "Romina, love, it isn't for vanity. I am not so foolish as to waste effort on such an ephemeral adornment. What you must understand is that out here, every day is a struggle, another day to work. It doesn't matter whether you take care of yourself or not; there are no rules. However, I believe that such simplicity is where our humanity lies." She turned to look my in the eyes, placing her hands on my shoulders. "As you grow, you will continue to see the desolation of this place, and you may feel that there is no point in exerting extra effort for anything. But it's that little effort to retain our spirit, to desperately grasp what little humanity hasn't been stripped of us, that is what gives us the strength to continue on."_

_I understood everything she said, drinking every word and savoring each's unique taste. I didn't know how to respond to what she'd told me. I just nodded. She understood. "My god, I didn't mean for that to turn into some grand speech." She chuckled softly. "Go on, now. You've done good work. Just be sure to be back in an hour._ "

 

***

A bolt of neural lightning blasted across my brain. It throbbed violently as I tried to open my eyes, slowly letting in what little light was around. I found my hands in binds, writhing them desperately to try to break free. I quickly scanned my surroundings, seeing the lights of New Vegas shining brilliantly neon in the distance.

"Heh," I looked up and saw the mohawked man scoff. He brandished a shovel. "Guess who's wakin' up over here."

There were three men. I recognized two of them as Great Khans, but the man standing in the middle, casually puffing on a cigarette, had a different look about him. He was more polished, refined. He had the same primal hunger, its fiery voracity just redistributed. He hid it better than the other two. He flicked his flip lighter shut, stamping his cigarette butt into the ground. He swiveled his wingtips into the dirt as though he'd practiced it many times. He reached into his pocket again and pulled out a silvery white poker chip, flashing it briefly.

As he spoke, I became increasingly aware of my impending death. I wanted to cry out, to tell him that I didn't deserve to die. I'd grovel and plea, promising to do anything he asked in return for another day in the searing sun, another breath of irradiated air. But I didn't. I did nothing but listen to his every word, tasting the bitterness they brought. I didn't need to say anything. He understood. And he wasn't going to do a damn thing about it.

I listened to him ramble on, wondering why he'd even wasted his breath on writing me a eulogy. 'I'd made my last delivery.' Finally, some good news amidst this calamity, I thought. That job I'd taken had drained my vitality, and now, my life.

He reached into that vile pocket one last time and drew his gun, cocking it slowly, allowing me to hear every single click. I wanted to close my eyes, but I didn't. I stared straight at him, and he at me, his eyes tracing the barrel all the way back down to the lowly, disposable courier kneeling before him. My brazen reciprocation of his gaze caught him off guard, and he tried his best not to express it, but following the final utterance I heard, I saw his eyes flit away as his finger clenched the trigger.

_"The truth is, the game was rigged from the start."_


	2. Chapter 1

_The sun blazed with unprecedented intensity as we stalked down the dusty trail. I raised my hand to my forehead to wipe off the beads of sweat that had collected there, dirt transferred from my hand then clinging to the layer that yet remained._

_"Look, there's one," Adana whispered, pointing toward a cactus._

_"Eh, I don't see squat," I said. I grabbed my pistol and aimed at it down the sights, ever stationary, straining to see motion. As though it had heard my_ _very_ _thoughts, I suddenly saw the blue flick of a gecko tail from behind its hiding place._

_"I got this one," She said, effortlessly taking her aim. With a quick pop, the gecko was down almost as soon as I saw it emerge. "C'mon, Romi," she beckoned as we trotted towards her fresh kill._

_"Shit, man. How can I even hunt with you if you show me up this good every time?" I said as I looked down at the bullet hole right in the center of its head._

_"You're not so bad. You just need to pay more attention before it's, er, more_ forcibly _drawn from you. You're a great shot when your target comes barreling at you," she laughed, throwing her arm over my shoulder and pulling me in. "You really should be more careful, though. No matter how good of a shot you are, it's too late to draw your pistol when someone else already has their finger on the trigger."_

_"I know," I sighed. "I know."_

_"Well, enough of this life lessons shit, huh? We've got a gecko to skin."_

_***_

My eyes shot open, blinding me as I gasped for breath, my lungs fruitlessly heaving. I sat up and instantly felt faint. All I could see was a wash of white around me as the world reeled. I'm dead, I thought, I must be dead. I spread my arms out, awaiting a revelation, and a flash of pain seared across my brain like hot lightning. My hands rushed to cradle my throbbing head. _I knew it was too good to be true._

"You're awake. How about that." I heard a man's voice, calm yet incredulous. I turned to face him, his face still blurry. "Uh," I managed to grunt. I swiveled, urging my tight muscles to move me off of the bed, but I was overcome with dizziness, almost falling into him.

"Easy, easy," He said. "You've been out cold for a couple of days now."

I sat for a moment, just breathing as my vision began to come back into focus, the dust slowly settling around me. The man was patient, allowing me to take my time to process all that was being asked of me. I gave him my name, and he offered me his hand as he led me forward. Dizzy and out of breath after only a few shaky steps, I slumped onto the couch, a wall of fog rolling over my exhausted mind. 

He relentlessly ravaged my brain, bringing forth countless memories that'd been lost in the deep recesses of my mind. It troubled me how much I'd forgotten. I remembered my mother, Selena. She was beautiful in every regard and wise far beyond her years. I remembered the countless times she'd tried to impart such wisdom upon me and the countless times I'd spurned it. I was a proud, reckless fool. I figured that was what got me here, my only prize a damaged brain and a broken heart. 

After about another hour of such dealings, Mitchell, which I learned his name was, let me go, believing me to be sane enough to reenter society. I thanked him as I made my way towards his front door, a new vault suit and Pip-Boy now in my possession. The instant my fingers grazed the doorknob, however, a torrent of tears flooded my vision. I faltered, silently sobbing. I clutched the doorknob, unable to let go. I took my free hand, now adorned with RobCo's finest, and wiped my eyes with ferocity, prohibiting myself from losing it so early in the day. I knew I had to  keep it together. Drawing a breath deep enough to sustain me, I forced myself to turn the rusted knob and walk through, the entire world again laid before me beyond its meager frame.

I ran over everything that Doc Mitchell had told me, still skeptical. A securitron by the name of Victor grabbed me and rushed me to Mitch's home shortly after I was shot, somehow avoiding the perpetrators, and making it in time that I didn't bleed out. The likelihood of such endeavors being successful was so low that he seemed to ignore the miracle it was that I was even alive at that point. And he apparently did it all out of the kindness of his heart, comprised of electrical impulses and metal. Something just didn't add up to me. 

As I was analyzing the character that had been synthesized for him over two hundred years ago, I saw him roll up, quite literally, on a single wheel that was caked with dirt. 

"Well, howdy, partner!" He said. 

I instantly hated him. "Er, hello," I replied nervously.

"Ole' Doc Mitchell sure was worried about you, but look at you now. Right as rain, I'd say."

"Heh, yeah," I said, pulling out a sideways smile as I tried to avoid contact with the unblinking eyes displayed on his screen.

"Well, I'll see you around, partner." He said. He pulled a 180 and rolled off into the distance. I watched him the whole way, observing as he entered a derelict shack. _Why in the sam hell does a robot need his own home?_ I asked myself, almost disgusted at the prospect. I shook off my disdain, rolling my shoulders and tossing my head before walking on. I ran my fingers through my hair, noticing a bald patch just above my left ear. I realized that the bullet must've penetrated my temporal lobe, which explained the memory loss. 

I was amazed that the light skimming I'd done through pre-war biology books had stuck with me through such significant head trauma, yet so little of my mother, my family, my life, followed suit. I began to walk towards the saloon, attempting to lick my wounds and mourn the loss of a life I no longer remembered. The steps creaked beneath me as I marched onward, carefully avoiding the leather-like man who was fondling a stick of dynamite and muttering softly to, I presumed, himself. I hoped it wasn't the damn dynamite.

Stepping into the saloon, I felt calmer. The musk of aging wood and aging alcohol was an aroma quite familiar to me. A fan lazily spun, circulating the stale air while I took in my surroundings. Before me, there was a weathered pool table and an equally battered jukebox that somehow managed to still sing out, despite having been in that very spot for over two hundred years. That amazed me. To my left, however, were the items of interest: Booths, bar stools, and booze. 

_Really, Romina?_ I asked myself. _Only a few days after somehow surviving a bullet to the head, you decide to imbibe in what is ultimately a brain killer? What the fuck is wrong with you?_

But despite my inhibitions, I waltzed forth to the bar as though I were a regular.  The woman behind the bar spoke. "Hey, I haven't seen your face here before. I'm Trudy. Welcome to Goodsprings."

"Romina," I said, nodding. "I'm just rolling through town, figured I'd wet my whistle. You got a nice place here." 

"Thanks, been the proud owner for years. What can I get ya?"

"I'll take a whiskey," I said, clawing at the bottom of my bag and handing over a small pile of caps. 

"Sure thing," She said, sliding over a bottle. "Hey, you seem a little low on caps. Go on over to Sunny, the gal with that dog glued to her hip. She might have some work for ya."

"Thanks, I'll check it out. I think I might be unemployed."

"You 'think?'" 

I sighed. "Eh, long story."

She shrugged, knowingly. Surely, she'd heard enough woeful tales to fill a book, wiped enough tears off of the counter to fill a lake. I wasn't quite ready to offer mine to her. Instead, I turned around, shoving my belongings back into my bag, and made my way around the corner to find Sunny. Sure enough, there she stood with a dog panting at her side. 

"Um, hey, I'm Romina. Trudy said you might have some work for me."  
  
She smiled and extended her hand. "Sure thing. I'm Sunny, as I'm sure Trudy told you, and this here is Cheyenne," she said, patting the dog on the head. "And yes, I do have a job for you, granted you don't mind shooting some geckos."  
  
"No problemo. I'm no gunslinger, but I can work my way around a pistol well enough to knock 'em down. But, uh, what's in it for me?"

"Fifty caps, and Cheyenne and I will go out there with you, show you around."  
  
"Done deal. Just say when."

"Well, I'd like to go now, while it's still light out."

I shrugged. "Sure."

She patted her thigh, and Cheyenne followed. Once again, I swung the door wide, again stepping under the scorching sun. Her stride was quick, much faster than I was accustomed to walking, especially in my current state. I struggled to keep up, awkwardly jogging at irregular intervals. 

"Alright, here we are. Stop number one," She said, picking up her rifle and aiming it at the handful of geckos scampering around the well. 

I lifted my 9mm and aimed down the sights. I locked onto one, and pulled the trigger. Hearing the bang, I froze, dropping my gun before collapsing to my knees. I saw him, his awful suit, his perfect hair made flawed by the desert winds. I saw the fire and fear in his eyes, the conflict between humanity and ambition. And I saw ambition win, right between my eyes.

"Woah, are you alright?" Sunny asked, placing a hand on my trembling shoulder. 

I pressed my lips together and forced out a shaky breath. "Uh, yeah, I just, uh, I just haven't shot a gun in a while. I'll be fine." I folded my hands and placed them on my knee to push myself back up, grabbed my pistol, and rolled my shoulders again.

"Well, the good news is," she said, pointing, "is that you got 'im."

"Really?" I cracked my knuckles. "I mean, I usually do get them. It's just been a while is all."

"Well, you've proved that you can shoot 'em. Just prove that you can do it without having me carry you to Doc Mitchell's, and we'll be good."

"Sorry about that, I think I'll be alright."

"Okay," she smiled. "Good."

As we moved along the road that'd first carried me there, I noticed that she'd slowed down considerably, and I frowned. Again, someone else felt the need to accommodate for my own shortcomings. I couldn't stand being so feeble. Still, I trudged forward, this time paying more attention to my own movements. I watched gravel and sand slide beneath my feet impossibly fast only to look up and notice that I wasn't moving any faster than I had been before. 

We continued to the second well, where I spotted three more geckos trotting in chaotic circles. I braced myself, hoping I wouldn't be attacked by that man's vile image a second time. Taking my aim again, as well as a deep breath, I had little trouble downing two of them while Sunny and Cheyenne tackled the third. 

I stopped at the well to scoop a few swigs of water into my mouth, feeling my tongue regain its full mobility. My throat, too, was again functioning, needing resuscitation after my series of heaves and sighs. Without saying a word, I continued on to the third well. We met the same success there, too. 

As she handed me my caps, and clapped my on the back for a job well done, I pondered the ambiguity, or perhaps absence, of a true finish line for my task. Sure, with a single bullet, I'd stolen the chance at life from each of the vermin running amok, but surely there'd be more. There always were. Perhaps the next hoard would arrive even more destructive, trying to cope with the loss of their compatriots in the only way that their primitive brains could. Ultimately, I remembered, it wouldn't matter. I'd be long gone before they would dare to return. The carnage laid before me would ward them off long enough for me to shuffle back into the sunset, forgetting I'd ever seen it.  I thought about turning back around, marching to the top of the hill and looking at the hole in which my former self was buried. But I hadn't the time nor the spirit left to mourn such a loss. 

_With the sun now scalding my chestnut locks, I began to follow the very road that'd led me to my end, retracing my heavy steps back to its beginning._

**Author's Note:**

> This is just the intro that I'm putting out as a kind of "test the waters" for me, as I'm very new on ao3 and the writing scene as a whole. I have the story more or less fleshed out at this point, so I can keep going if it's worth it. 
> 
> Anyway, though, thank you for taking the time to read it, even if you think it totally sucks.


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